


Ozymandias

by hobohodo



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8196265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobohodo/pseuds/hobohodo
Summary: “- I’m always right,” Montparnasse said, matter-of-factly. “Here you go.”Grantaire stared at the glass in front of him. It was filled with intensely pink liquid, smelling strongly of alcohol and of something nauseatingly sweet. “What is this?”“A glass of whatever.”Grantaire seemed to consider this. It took him some moments to come to his conclusion, but he looked up at Montparnasse eventually. “You’re a terrible bartender.”“That will be eight euros.”“This is highway robbery,” he informed him, handing him a pink note from his wallet.“Ah, I haven’t done that in some time,” he said, but seemed happy enough to take Grantaire’s money.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt from regenbogen-regen: no names but five sentences. must all appear in the same story. in no particular order tho. “are you finishing that or…?” “great. perfect. nice. fuck this.” “here’s a glass of whatever.” “no, i don’t need you.” “i said i love you.”
> 
> Classic story of a drabble turning into some thirteen pages. Unbeta'd, barely edited, I apologize for any and all mistakes. :)

“- I’m always right,” Montparnasse said, matter-of-factly. “Here you go.”

Grantaire stared at the glass in front of him. It was filled with intensely pink liquid, smelling strongly of alcohol and of something nauseatingly sweet. “What is this?”

“A glass of whatever.”

Grantaire seemed to consider this. It took him some moments to come to his conclusion, but he looked up at Montparnasse eventually. “You’re a terrible bartender.”

“That will be eight euros.”

“This is highway robbery,” he informed him, handing him a pink note from his wallet.

“Ah, I haven’t done that in some time,” he said, but seemed happy enough to take Grantaire’s money. He put it into the till, pushed it closed, and drew his phone from his pocket, only to be interrupted by Grantaire’s voice.

“Now, I’m no master mathematician. But, ten minus eight. Hm, that’s, what, two euros?”

“Is that so?” he asked. Another shrug graced his shoulders, his hip pressing against the corner edge of the counter. He seemed to be more occupied by whomever it was he was chatting with than what Grantaire thought about his arithmetic.

Grantaire only seemed amused. His gaze settled on Montparnasse, shameless and without hesitation. They were the only people in the bar. It was quiet. There were no music through the speakers, only the gentle background whirr of ventilation. He felt his phone vibrate against his thigh, and brought it out. Another message from Enjolras, compounding on top of the nine he had already sent, and the seventeen from the others. It was a meeting night. Les Amis had holed up in the Musain, as they always were, and Grantaire had been absent and had given word to no one. His eyes lingered, for some moments, after reading the message. For the slightest of moments, he thought about replying. He pushed the thought away. Instead, he noticed, from his peripheral, Montparnasse watching him. He tilted his head to meet his gaze, but the moment he did, he looked elsewhere. Grantaire put his phone facedown on the counter, index finger dragging along the rim of the glass.

“Your drink will go warm. Would be a waste of ten euros.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again moments later, lips instead twisting into a lopsided smirk. Tentatively, he picked the glass up, bringing it to his lips for a sip. The sweetness burned more than the actual alcohol - that wasn’t to say that he couldn’t taste the alcohol, which was its own terrifyingly disgusting combination of strong and cheap. Rather than tempering each other out, like most cocktails did, they brought out the worst in each other. Still, it was alcohol. Still, Montparnasse had made it, and Grantaire couldn’t find himself minding so much. He put the glass down, meeting Montparnasse’s gaze, which was directed right at him. Grantaire threw him a grin, and Montparnasse only smirked.   

“Careful, there. I might think you actually like it.”

“Maybe I do,” Grantaire said.

A derisive snort. Montparnasse reopened the till, pulling out two euros and placing them on the counter. He returned to his texting.

Grantaire pushed the drink to the side. He crossed his arms over the counter, propping his chin up over them, watching the man in front of him. He typed rapidly, focused entirely on whatever it was he writing. After almost a minute, he raised his head to look at Grantaire, who pouted in response. One buzz from his phone, and his gaze lowered towards it immediately, but he brought one hand to Grantaire’s hair, slipping his fingers through it, petting him lightly.

“What are you, an ignored puppy?”

He closed his eyes, seeming content with the feeling of fingers through his hair. After some moments, he took Montparnasse’s hand, moving it away, pressing a kiss over his knuckles. Montparnasse patted his cheek, and then drew his hand back to complete his sentence. Grantaire sat up straight again, drinking from his glass. Another vibration from his phone.

“Who are you talking to?”

Montparnasse continued to type. “You should answer him.”

“Who?”

He used his phone to push Grantaire’s phone towards him. “Your precious Apollo.”

“Why?” Grantaire asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“Because it will make you happy.”

“Will it?”

A pause. “Yes.”

“What makes you say that?”

Montparnasse didn’t respond to that. For the slightest of moments, his thumb stilled, but he recovered quickly. When it was clear that he wasn’t going to dignify Grantaire’s question with a response, Grantaire sighed. His phone began to buzz.

He flipped it over to see who it was. Combeferre. He left it there, instead finding greater pleasure in stirring his ice cubes. He wondered about Montparnasse, who he was really messaging. It wasn’t Claquesous. He wouldn’t have told Grantaire if it had been, not with that much ease. He’d turned away from that life, jarringly quickly. Only Patron-Minette knew. They weren’t talking to him anyway. And, well, Grantaire knew. Maybe Jehan, too.

The buzzing was incessant.

Grantaire knew what they said. They spoke both behind his back and right in front of him, disapproving of Montparnasse, of Patron-Minette, telling him he was getting involved in something far more dangerous than he could handle.

Montparnasse put his phone on the counter. He scowled at Grantaire. Grantaire, of course, grinned, which prompted Montparnasse to reach over, slide the green icon to the right, and then the loudspeaker button. Grantaire’s eyes went wide, and could only suffer through it as Montparnasse returned his unrepentant grin, knowing he had brought it upon himself.

“Grantaire,” said the voice of Combeferre.

Grantaire stared at Montparnasse, as if asking for recompense for answering the call in the first place. He only raised an eyebrow in return, directing a dry, mocking smirk towards Grantaire, as if asking him if he really wanted him to be the one to reply to Combeferre.

“Grantaire?”

Montparnasse opened his mouth to speak, and Grantaire spoke over him immediately. “Ferre. Why’d you call?”

“It’s a Tuesday.”

“Yes, thank you, but my calendar is functioning perfectly well.”

“Where are you? We were waiting for you.”

A small frown was on Montparnasse’s face. Grantaire shrugged. “Oh, I just woke up, shit.”

“Grantaire, you know you don’t need an excuse, right? If you didn’t want to go, it’s all right, you’re not obliged to. It’s just - “

He hadn’t expected them to notice, if he were being completely honest. Montparnasse’s expression had went from a frown to slowly simmering interest, elbow on the counter, palm propping his chin up.

“Just what?”

“You’ve never missed a meeting.” Which was true. He’d walked in, once, sneezing and coughing and throwing up, a fever of somewhat past forty, feeling like he was on the very verge of death. Joly had a panic attack. “Is everything all right? Are you in trouble?”

“He’s with me,” Montparnasse said, as if it explained everything.

For too long, there was silence. Like Combeferre had covered the receiver, and his friends were promptly freaking out. Mostly, Grantaire watched Montparnasse. He was looking down at the counter now, any trace of amusement only obviously external.

Grantaire frowned. “Earth to Combeferre?”

A few moments, and then a clear of the throat. “I see.”

“I’m sure you do. Hey, I’m sorry for missing the meeting. I’ll call next time. You discussed what to do with the donations tonight, right? Text me what happened. See you.” Grantaire said, ending the call. He looked at Montparnasse, who only crossed his arms.

“What are you doing here?”

“Drinking. Talking to you.”

“At me, really.” Montparnasse said. “No, but, why weren’t you there?”

“I wanted to be here.”

Montparnasse blinked. He looked to the side. “I’m the bad influence on your life.”

Grantaire grinned. “Usually you’re proud of that statement.”

He smirked, took Grantaire’s drink from him, taking a sip. “If it were a movie, I’d be the one you’re settling on, or the awful, abusive jock, or something, who your real love interest would have to rescue you from.”

A frown knotted his features. “You couldn’t hurt me.”

“Hah.”

“And I’m not settling.”

“I’m just saying.”

“You’re not an obstacle, or some stepping stone - ” Grantaire continued. “- you’re not - this isn’t, we’re not in a movie. I’m here, because this is where I wanted to be tonight.”

“Why? He said you’d never missed a meeting before.”

“You’re more important than the meeting.”

“You see me almost every night.”

And then it was Grantaire’s turn to be silent. He shrugged. “I never cared about the meetings.”

“This is only adding to my movie point. A threat, too. Pulling you away from your friends, from the things you care about.”

“You make me crap drinks so I don’t drink as much.”

Montparnasse shrugged. “So you convince yourself. Really, I’m just an awful bartender. You know it’s not your fault I’m here, right? I chose to be here.”

“I know.” Grantaire said. “I chose to be here, too.”

Silence. Montparnasse had returned to his texting.

“You never told me who you were talking to.”

More silence. Grantaire downed the rest of his drink. Now that there was no ice to numb the horrible taste away, it was even worse.

“Can I get another?”

Montparnasse, without saying a word, took his glass. He rinsed it in the sink. “Claquesous.”

“What are you talking about?”

He pulled a carton of juice from the fridge, filling the glass entirely. “They’re planning a small crime.” Blatant lies, both of them knew. They didn’t talk, anymore. He set the glass in front of Grantaire. “An important document from some solicitor. Someone very important and very rich wants it to go missing.”

“Alcohol?”

“We’re out.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow, glancing at the shelves of obviously filled bottles behind Montparnasse. With a shrug, he accepted it. He couldn’t help but feel like it was retribution. “I see. How much?”

“Two euros, for disappointing you.” Montparnasse said, taking the two euros that Grantaire had failed to take from the counter.

A glance at the glass, a small sip. “Is that what my disappointment is worth? Two euros?”

Texting, again.

Grantaire picked up his phone, finally replying to the messages he’d accumulated over the past few hours. Almost immediately, Enjolras responded, even angrier than the last message. He smirked, typing as heavily and rapidly as Montparnasse had been only moments ago, taunting Enjolras.

“I told you it would make you happy.”

Grantaire finished up his response, before looking up at Montparnasse. “Yes, his anger and irritation bring me immense joy.”

“You’re being sarcastic, but it does.”

“Does it?”

“You enjoy it, when he pays attention to you.”

“I enjoy it when you pay attention to me.”

Montparnasse looked irritated. “I don’t need you to - “

“What? Tell the truth?”

“Pity me.”

“I don’t.”

Silence, irritation. A gaze settled on a point in the wall somewhere.

“I didn’t say that to prove a point. Or because I’m compensating, or just because I want you to feel better. I mean it.”

Montparnasse looked very interested in the happenings of peeling wallpaper, too absorbed in it to pay attention to whatever it was Grantaire was saying.

Grantaire sighed. He stirred his glass of juice, sorely wishing it was alcohol. Rather than asking Montparnasse, which he knew wouldn’t work, he chose instead to tough it out, allowing the juice to wash out the flavor of the cocktail from earlier. More silence. Thick, nerve-wracking silence, and Grantaire wanted to -

“Do you know that I love you?”

He blinked, looking at Montparnasse, who was again looking down and typing with the same rigor and focus as he had been earlier. Grantaire didn’t know what to say. It was - jarring, to say the least, after everything else, but somehow, it wasn’t… surprising.

“It’s a simple question. I said that I love you. Do you know that?”

Grantaire blinked. “When you say - “

“Yes or no?”

“I didn’t think - “

“Wow, how surprising. Yes or no?”

“No, I didn’t know.”

“Well, I do.” Montparnasse said. “Now you know. I’m closing up. Are you finishing that, or?”

Grantaire pushed the glass towards him, still trying to wrap his head around the proper thing to say. Montparnasse rolled his eyes, finished the rest of the juice, and brought it to the sink.

“Are you staying over tonight?” Grantaire asked him. A useless question, a game they kept up. Montparnasse stayed over every night. He didn’t have anywhere else to stay at.

A beat, still. “Yes.”

“I’ll wait for you outside.”

He did. He smoked a cigarette. Halfway through it, Montparnasse appeared through the door with his things. He took a drag from Grantaire’s cigarette, before taking his hand, like he always did, and walking with him. The streets of Paris were quiet. The sky was empty. There were no stars, the moon was nowhere to be seen. Their way was lit only by soft smatterings of golden light from old, black streetlamps. Underneath it Grantaire could see the bags under Montparnasse’s eyes. It hadn’t been so obvious in the crap lighting of the bar. Now, he could see just how exhausted he was.

“You love your Apollo.”

“Love is - “

“Shut up. Let’s argue semantics tomorrow. You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“Know what I mean?”

“Love him.”

They continued to walk.

“By your definition of the word.”

“You’re annoying,” Montparnasse informed him, without any fire behind his words, nor bitterness, nor resignation. Just a statement of a fact.

Grantaire shrugged, kissed his temple. “You’re tired. And jealous.”

Perhaps it wasn’t a conscious movement, but Montparnasse moved to rub at his eyes. “I’ll try harder not to look so tired.”

Grantaire let it slide. “Or you could get more sleep.”

Montparnasse shrugged.

“You work too much.”

He tensed. Grantaire immediately realized he’d said the wrong thing, and opened his mouth to apologize, but Montparnasse spoke before he could. “It wasn’t Claquesous I was talking to earlier, you know that.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you understand how tempting it is.”

“I don’t. I’d like to understand.”

After a few moments, he spoke again. “I took a fourth job.”

Grantaire frowned, looking at him. “What? Three was too much already.”

“We need the money.”

“You need sleep. You need to - I don’t know, enjoy life. You’re twenty.”

“Thank you, I know how old I am.”

“I can work, too. You can’t say we need the money and do it all by yourself.”

“Shut up and let me build you an empire.”

“We can - “

“No. I work, you study. That’s the deal.”

“Montparnasse.”

“I want it to be real.”

“It is real, no matter what - “

“And I want you to be safe, I want it to last as long as it possibly could. But, yes, you’re right, I can’t handle living like this. I miss living comfortably, luxuriously. I’m tempted, every day, every moment - ”

“I’m not worth it.”

“Great. Perfect. Nice. Fuck this. Are you even listening to me?”

“You already had an empire - “

“And I gave it up.”

Grantaire untangled himself from Montparnasse to open the door.

“Grantaire.”

He reached for his keys, but they weren’t in his pocket. “Yes?” he asked, frowning as he patted his pockets.

Montparnasse stepped forward, dangling a keychain from his index finger. “Promise me something.”

He blinked, confused. After a moment, he raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Don’t ever dare imply that I would leave you ever again. Promise me.”

After a moment, he nodded. “I promise.”

Montparnasse opened the door, headed inside. He went straight to Grantaire’s bedroom, removing his clothes and leafing through the drawers for a shirt.

“What I was just saying, is,” Grantaire said, changing, as well, watching as Montparnasse took his clothes and folded them aside. “You don’t have to do it all by yourself.”

“You never wanted an empire.”

“No. I just wanted you,” he said, tiredly.

“Exactly. So it’s on me to build it.”

“I should be the one working. You should be the one in school. You’d make more out of it.”

He paused, for some moments. “Maybe someday.”

Grantaire pursed his lips, looking at him. “Someday. Promise?”

“No promises.”

Grantaire sighed. He reached over, touched him. “Hey.”

Moments later, “I can’t promise you something I can’t keep. If he loved you back - “

“You’re not allowed to do this.”

“You can’t not allow me to do anything.”

Grantaire lay down. Montparnasse climbed in beside him.

“You can’t get mad when I think you’d leave me, when you have every reason to, when it would be so much easier to, when you’re casually just taking it as fact that I’d leave you at any moment.”

“Try and stop me.”

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

“He doesn’t. Love me back.”

“But, if he did.”

“Then he wouldn’t be Enjolras.”

“You’re right. I should sleep. Good night.”

“Fine. Good night.”

Many moments passed, but it was obvious that neither of them were asleep. He could feel the rise and fall of his chest against his. He wouldn’t mind, usually, but Montparnasse had looked so tired. Still, he couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop thinking. He couldn’t leave it at that.

“I would stay,” Grantaire murmured.

“Hm?”

“If he loved me back, I would stay with you.”

“Why?”

“Because you make me happy.”

“He could make you happy, too.”

“But he doesn’t.”

“But he could.”

It took Grantaire some moments. “He could. But he wouldn’t be you.”

“Promise me you won’t keep missing meetings for me.”

“Maybe I’ll just bring them around, next week.”

Montparnasse opened his eyes to look up at him.

“I’ll tell them.” Grantaire added, eyes still closed.

“Tell them what?”

“That I love you, too.”

“I see. When will you tell me that?”

“Someday.”

“I don’t want you to stay just because you feel obliged to. I don’t want you to say that you love me, because you feel obliged to.”

“I’m not. I won’t.” Grantaire said. “And I mean it. I hadn’t realized, before.”

“But if you had the choice - ”

“Fuck you. I would choose you. Every time, over and over again,” he said, and meant it.

“Fuck you, too,” Montparnasse replied, softly. “You won’t.”

“You’re not always right, you know.”

“I am.”

“Will you promise me something, too?”

“Like I said, it depends on what it is.”

Grantaire closed his eyes. “Don’t exclude me. It’s _our_  damn empire - let’s build it together.”

Montparnasse kissed his lips. “Okay,” he said, and then, quietly, settled in his arms. 

They fell asleep, eventually.

* * *

The next day, Grantaire made him breakfast. The next week, Grantaire brought his friends over to the bar, and Montparnasse made them crap drinks, too.

Grantaire told him, eventually. Every day, and every night. He never got tired of hearing it, and Grantaire never got tired of saying it. They were happy. Not always, not at every single moment, but they were really, truly happy.

Several months later, they broke up.

Some time after that, Grantaire was seen holding hands with Enjolras.

Sometimes, Montparnasse hated being right.

* * *

Perhaps if we’d peered some moments longer, we’d see a different ending. Perhaps, if Grantaire had the chance to explain, it would be different.

But this one, this particular story, ends here.


End file.
